


Equilibrium Asymmetrical

by kitana



Category: Battle Royale (2000)
Genre: Gun Kink, Gun Violence, M/M, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-10
Updated: 2006-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/kitana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Shinji wants to live long enough to make it out of Battle Royale, he has to get past Kiriyama to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equilibrium Asymmetrical

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the movie-verse version of Battle Royale. …and no, the title isn’t supposed to make a lot of sense.

“Kiriyama… I swear to God…”

Shinji’s fingers were inches away from the detonator he’d built to take out the school controlling everything on this Godforsaken island. Kiriyama’s semi-automatic was trained right in the middle of his chest. Shinji wanted to get off of this island, wanted to survive, but he’d be damned if he let Kiriyama take him out here and now with out him blowing something up. Iijima was dead, Sugimura was dead. There was no _fucking_ way he wouldn’t avenge them somehow.

Kiriyama’s fingers twitched on the trigger. The look the other boy had on his face was unnerving. His eyes were sparkling, way too bright, and his smile was pure ‘don’t-give-a-fuck’. “If you don’t want me to kill you right now, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Shinji stared straight at Kiriyama with hard eyes. It wasn’t hard to admit that he didn’t want to die. What was hard, though, was submitting to having his life in the hands of some crazy exchange student. He’d seen before when Kiriyama slaughtered two of his other classmates on top of the hill. He’d cringed when he heard their death woes over the bullhorn they’d previously used to call for peace. The boy was ruthless, to put it lightly.

Even still, Shinji found himself lowering his hands from the detonator. He didn’t have any other weapons but that detonator. His issued weapon was a tracker; what the hell would that do against Kiriyama’s various collected weapons? It wasn’t a pretty picture, but Shinji didn’t have much of a choice.

He watched as Kiriyama slung the semi-automatic around, letting it rest against his back. He pulled out a pistol instead, leveling it at Shinji’s chest again. Slowly, Kiriyama made his way towards Shinji. Shinji felt himself growing tenser as Kiriyama came closer; they were inches away from each other, and the barrel of the pistol pressed uncomfortably against his sternum. Shinji let out a shaky breath.

Kiriyama thumbed the safety on the pistol. “Are you afraid, Mimura?” he whispered, cocking his head to one side. His smile never wavered — in fact, it seemed to grow wider. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

Shinji’s eyes shifted from Kiriyama’s face, to the gun and the bag full of weapons slung around his shoulders, then back again. At this point, all of his intuition and genius wasn’t enough to help him figure out how to evade Kiriyama. “I don’t know,” Shinji replied, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat from his face in fear that Kiriyama would take it as something else. Kiriyama’s free hand came up to his face, cupping his chin roughly. He tipped Shinji’s head up, staring down into his eyes.

Shinji flopped around for something to say, but he came up blank. Kiriyama pushed him away abruptly, and gestured to the little safehouse Shinji had been previously using as shelter while he hacked into the Battle Royale computer system.

“Go,” Kiriyama stated simply. He withdrew the gun slightly, just enough to let Shinji slip past. He watched Shinji run into the building before he set up a brisk pace to follow him inside. He let out a chuckle as he skipped up the steps and pushed the doors wide. Mimura was smart, Kiriyama noted. The boy had gone inside as he said, and most likely out of fear of death, he had only stood there, waiting for Kiriyama’s next command.

Control was beautiful.

Kiriyama looked around, idly pushing frizzy hair out of his face, searching for exactly what he wanted. “Clear the table.”

“…what? All my work is there!” Shinji replied without thinking, going on the defensive. He wasn’t going to let Kiriyama destroy the immense amount of work he’d been slaving over for the past day and a half. If he hadn’t been in a dire strait, there was no way he would’ve ever accomplished that much in such little time.

Kiriyama rolled his shoulders easily, cocking his pistol. That gun seemed like an extension of Kiriyama — second nature. Shinji’s eyes flickered to it.

“I _said_ ,” Kiriyama emphasized casually. “Clear the damn table.”

In that instant, Shinji knew that maybe he should keep his outbursts in check. Kiriyama and his pistol and his killing intent loomed over Shinji like a shadow. He couldn’t shake the prickly feeling, knowing that all Kiriyama had to do was twitch his index finger and a round of bullets could be lodged into his back. Painfully aware, Shinji rushed to push everything off of the table. Papers scattered everywhere, sulfur sprayed over the floor underneath the table. The only thing Shinji took quick care to preserve was the notebook computer he’d been working with.

Kiriyama’s sudden, swift approach caught Shinji off guard. He stepped back instinctively, the back of his thighs bumping against the edge of the table. Kiriyama’s pistol was pressed against Shinji’s throat, and it made it hard for the boy to swallow. Shinji tried to control his trembling as Kiriyama trailed the barrel of the gun up the line of jaw, and over his ear. Shinji flinched when he heard a click, and a wave of humiliation swelled and ebbed through him when Kiriyama answered him with a chuckle and a look of dry amusement. It was just the safety locking back into place.

Kiriyama then stepped between Shinji’s spread legs, pushing himself flush against him. Kiriyama glanced at Shinji’s hands; they were empty, as they should be. Kiriyama’s free hand twisted into Shinji’s shirt and he pressed his lips to Shinji’s roughly. Wide-eyed, Shinji made a noise somewhere between shock and disgust, and made motions to move away. Kiriyama bit his bottom lip in warning and the gun pushing harder into Shinji’s ear was the back up. Kiriyama’s message was fairly clear: either comply or die.

Shinji felt his fingers twitch in nervousness and his body shook without him really wanting it to. Kiriyama’s lips were rough and barely wet, his tongue was like damp sandpaper and Shinji had to fight not to cringe. If Shinji thought about it enough, this act would not have been entirely unpleasant, if it weren’t for the entire situation surrounding it. Shinji was too wired and high-strung to think about sex, but apparently, Kiriyama was determined to make him think otherwise.

Shinji let Kiriyama push him further onto the table. If it would save his life, it would have to be done, Shinji thought to himself. He could be traumatized later. And, as Shinji felt something pressing hard and insistent against his inner thigh, he knew most definitely that would be.

Sensing that Shinji no longer needed persuasion, Kiriyama brought the gun away from Shinji’s ear. In that moment, Shinji released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, briefly relieved. He could deal with this, yes, as long as that cool, burning metal wasn’t being pushed into his temple. Shinji felt Kiriyama’s breath hot against his ear, whispering. While it wasn’t preferable, it was much, much better than a pistol. Kiriyama’s lips couldn’t sear through his ear. They could only taunt. Which Kiriyama took delight in asking him:

“Do you see things my way now?”

Shinji only nodded as Kiriyama pushed his hands under his shirt, his palms smoothing over the boy’s bare chest. Shinji followed Kiriyama’s silent insistence, raising his arms up just enough to let his shirt slide up to his neck. In the background of his mind, Shinji’s thoughts were racing. He’d never done this with a girl, let alone a boy. And if he managed to live through this, how would he complete anything without Iijima and Sugimura?

Abruptly, Kiriyama paused, pulling Shinji roughly off of the table, letting him land with a thud on the hard floor. He snatched up his pistol in the same second, aiming it at Shinji’s head as the boy looked up. Panic flooded through Shinji — was Kiriyama done already? Shinji tried to figure out what he had done wrong, and he came up with nothing. He’d listened to Kiriyama, begrudgingly, and now here he was on this cold floor, topless and extremely vulnerable with a gun aimed to his forehead.

Shinji watched as Kiriyama seemed to think to himself — his eyes sweeping over the thin frame and noticing, much to his chagrin, Kiriyama’s insistent erection — and alternatively cringed when Kiriyama stepped forward. Kiriyama tapped the gun against Shinji’s forehead and Shinji grunted in pain; Kiriyama’s fingers tangled into his hair, forcing his neck to crane back uncomfortably. Shinji’s eyes almost crossed as he tried to watch the barrel of Kiriyama’s pistol trail down between his eyes, down the bridge of his nose, stopping at his lips.

_Oh shit._

“Open,” Kiriyama commanded, his smile like insanity unbridled. Shinji had the distinct feeling that he was treading on _very_ thin ice, more so than earlier. Reluctantly, Shinji opened his mouth, his face twisting in distaste when the barrel of the pistol slid against his tongue, cold and tasting heavy of metal and gunpowder. Shinji let his mouth remain slack as Kiriyama pressed the barrel further into his mouth, and he half-choked on it before Kiriyama pulled it out to rest on his lower lip. Kiriyama thrust the pistol back into Shinji’s mouth, forcing the brunette to gag on it again. There wasn’t even a moment of respite for Shinji as Kiriyama unzipped his pants, pulling out his arousal.

In the back of his mind, Shinji wanted to slap himself for being impressed. He pursed his lips around the barrel, pressing his tongue to the hole, trying to slow the way Kiriyama drove it against his lips, the metal slowly warming but still uncomfortable. He watched Kiriyama’s hand smooth over his own erection, up, thumbing the tip, down, squeezing the base. Kiriyama’s dark eyes were half-lidded, staring down at Shinji intently. Shinji’s jaw ached with the prolonged stretch and he hollowed his cheeks repeatedly, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

Above him, Kiriyama made high, seemingly pained noises, entranced by the way Shinji’s mouth involuntarily moved around the pistol. Kiriyama stroked himself faster, his hips moving into his palm of their own accord. The pistol bumped against Shinji’s teeth and back of his throat recklessly, painfully, and he had to shut his eyes tight to cap the tears that came from the rattling pain. Swallowing was excruciating, like trying to choke down a few dozen short nails, and Shinji couldn’t suppress his urge to cough.

He heard Kiriyama’s voice take on a low note as he came, an urgent, needy, growling sort of exclamation. Shinji refused to open his eyes, even as he felt a few splatters of what _had_ to be Kiriyama’s semen hit his cheeks and nose. He heard Kiriyama’s breathing, deep and slow, and the gun stilled between his lips. Only then did he risk opening his eyes, to see Kiriyama’s wet fingers trace the mess on his cheeks. He then saw Kiriyama’s lips move, but he couldn’t hear him, like the boy was mouthing his words on purpose. He squinted, couldn’t make out what he was saying, until the split second that he tasted blood in the back of his throat and he slumped down to the floor with a thud, eyes wide and tears left unshed.

Kiriyama smiled as he wiped the gun on tattered pants. That had been fun.

Now, only three remained.


End file.
